


The Doctor Gets His Wings

by violet_quill



Category: Doctor Who (2005), House M.D.
Genre: Christmas, Crossover, Gen, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-21
Updated: 2010-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_quill/pseuds/violet_quill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two doctors walk into a bar. It's Christmas Eve. House is having the worst day of his life, but now it's about to get <i>weird</i>, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor Gets His Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Takes places immediately after the season 3 House episode "Merry Little Christmas" and references his [reasons for becoming a doctor](http://youtube.com/watch?v=nT3RZ7CZgJ4). Written in 2006; originally posted [here](http://violet-quill.livejournal.com/279425.html).

It's Christmas Eve in Princeton, and the town is blessedly empty of college kids. That's pretty much the only thing good about it right now, in House's estimation. It's been one of the crappiest days of his life. But he figures it can't get any worse than passing out in his own vomit, so after he leaves Tritter's office, beat down again, he heads straight to a bar.

He sits at a stool on the end and starts to down scotches like water, hoping to drink enough to dull the pain in his leg. To dull the pain all _over_. His cell phone seems heavy in his pocket, like he can actually feel Wilson's number weighing him down.

There is only one other man seated at the bar. Not surprising, really, because how pathetic is it to be in a grimy bar like this on Christmas Eve? Even the "entertainment" in the back of the room, the washed out performer who usually sings Springsteen covers - because apparently that's his entire repertoire - is belting out an ill-advised "Run Run Rudolph."

"Bloody ridiculous song," says that one other guy. He's sitting three stools away, and he's drinking something unidentifiable over ice. His coat hangs down over the legs of the stool, and one of his feet is swinging freely, showcasing a tattered brown converse. There's a weird expression on his face.

It's hard to tell if he's drunk or just British.

House holds up his glass in wordless agreement and then takes a long drink before setting it on the counter and staring down into it. He hardly notices when the man stands and moves over to sit down on the stool next to House's.

After a few minutes he can't ignore the prickly feeling of eyes on him. "Not interested," he mutters.

"In what?"

House looks up, and the full force of his irritation at the interruption shows on his face. "In whatever it is that compelled you to change seats. If this were a gay bar I'd assume you were a prostitute, but instead I think you're just one of those people who mistakenly assumes that strangers want to _talk_. If you want to hear life stories, be a bar tender, not a customer."

"I already tried talking to the bartender," the man says.

"And did he tell you to get lost?"

"No, he said that he's just a poor schmuck who got stuck working on the holiday, but the real lonely ones must be the pathetic drunks who are in a bar of their own volition at 1am on Christmas morning."

"I'm not lonely," House says, not debating the other part. "Go away."

"Fine. Just thought you might not want to spend Christmas alone, Greg. Far be it for me to - "

"Wait. How do you know my name?" House looks down, and sees that his PPTH badge is peeking out from where it's hooked to the belt loop on his jeans. "Oh, right."

The guy looks down too, as if seeing it for the first time. "Right, that must be it."

"I suppose you expect me to ask your name now."

"You can call me The Doctor."

House blinks. "Excuse me?"

"The Doctor. It's my name."

"Ah, I see. So I'm _a_ doctor, and you're _the_ doctor."

"Something like that, yes."

"Nice to meet you. Go away."

The Doctor doesn't move, and instead waves to the bartender. "We've met once," he says conversationally. "Though I doubt you remember. It was a long time ago, in Japan."

"In Japan. Right." Though the obscurity of the reference is enough to make House give him a second look. Nope, completely unfamiliar. Not to mention the fact that he hardly seems old enough to have had any meaningful interaction with House when he was a teenager.

"I'm good with faces," the Doctor says. "Sorry about your leg."

House looks at him sharply. "Okay. Who the hell are you and what is this about? What, did Wilson send me some sort of life coach or something?" He groans. "Oh god, you're not a rehab counselor are you? Do you people work on Christmas?"

The bartender sets a drink in front of the Doctor. There's a celery stick in it.

"Not a coach or a counselor, no. I dare say I'd be complete rubbish at either one of those jobs. You, though, you're a great doctor. Or so I hear. Did it get you the respect you wanted? Because you're _right_ even though no one likes you?"

House just stares at him.

"Well, it's not as if you're an Untouchable, but I've been talking to you for a total of five minutes and I already think you're a prick."

House figures that at this point it's mostly in his head, the alcohol and the remnants of the Oxy floating around and making him paranoid. He should probably just get up and leave while he's still sober enough to remember the workings of the public transportation system. Because there's no way that this guy knows what happened to him in Japan, no way he knows _why_ House became a _doctor_ , which hell, he hadn't even told Wilson until a few months ago.

"What am I, Jimmy fucking Stewart?" House blurts.

The Doctor lifts an eyebrow. "You think I'm an angel? That's a new one."

"No," House snaps, "I think you're a trick. Someone put you up to this 'It's a Wonderful Life' shit and it's got to be Wilson. Whatever he's paying you, I'll double it if you go give him a bloody nose."

"I don't know anyone named Wilson."

"Right. So you just happen to know my name, and that I'm a doctor - " The badge, he realizes, is pretty much covered by his motorcycle jacket. "And that I lived in Japan and what happened to me there. So, what, you're going to tell me that I'm throwing my life away? Show me what the world would be like without me, all the people who would be dead because I saved their lives?"

"I don't think that's necessary. Your ego's big enough already."

House frowns. "You're not trying to convince me that my life is worth living?"

"No, I just think you're being an idiot and I thought someone ought to tell you."

House downs the rest of his scotch and waves to the bartender for another. "Look, dude. Doctor. Whatever. I'm having one of the worst days of my life. The only reason I'm not in agonizing pain right now is because I'm too drunk to care. I'm probably going to go to jail. My best friend is a traitor. Probably no job anymore, either. So if you've got some sort of point to this little charade, stop fucking around and get to it."

"It's not a charade," the Doctor says, looking completely unfazed by House's outburst. "I honestly do think you're being an idiot."

"Who _are_ you?"

The Doctor swirls the celery stick in his drink and then takes a sip. "What would you say if I told you I was a time traveler and I'm here because of a rift in space and time not far away?"

"I'd say that explains a lot about Northern Jersey."

"I didn't say it would seem any more plausible to you than my being an angel, but there it is."

House sighs. "And I suppose you read minds or whatever, too."

"Not really. I haven't read _yours_ , have I? I told you, I know about Japan because I was there."

"Please. How old are you?"

"Nine hundred and - it's December, right?" The Doctor looks thoughtful, and House cuts him off before he can continue.

"Nine _hundred_."

Now the Doctor sighs. "I never said I was _human_. Here, you want proof?" He unbuttons his coat, baring a white shirt underneath. "Got a stethoscope?"

House gives him a Look. "You seem to know me so well. How likely does that seem?"

"Okay, fine. Press your ear to my chest if you like. I'm not shy."

"You want me to listen for your heartbeat? I suppose you're going to tell me you're a vampire?"

"Of course not," the Doctor snaps. "I'm an alien. Go on, then. Have a listen."

House hesitates, but curiosity gets the better of him and he leans over, pressing an ear to the Doctor's chest. _Thump thump thump._ "Sounds perfectly normal to me."

"Now move to the other side."

"What?"

"Listen on the other side of my chest."

Grudgingly, House moves his head. _Thump thump thump._ He blinks. Lifts his head, then presses his ear even closer. _Thump thump thump._ "But that's - "

"Impossible?"

House sits up again, looking a bit dumbfounded. He's about to say something when a stab of pain to his leg makes him double over. He snaps his fingers impatiently at the bartender.

The Doctor just regards him evenly, doesn't ask if he's okay, doesn't offer to help. "Guess you don't do much rock climbing these days," he says.

House downs half the new glass of scotch as soon as the bartender sets it in front of him. "You're freaking me the fuck out," he rasps.

"You're a doctor. What other explanation is there for my having two hearts than that I'm not human?"

"I'll… figure it out." House is already turning the problem over in his mind. Or mostly just taking mental notes in the hopes of making some sense of it when he's sober.

"I'm an alien," the Doctor says calmly. "And I'm over nine hundred years old, and I can travel through time. And the reason I know so much about you is that I met you briefly in Japan when you were fourteen. And when I saw you earlier today on the street, I got curious and did a little research, and then followed you."

"Research?"

The Doctor shrugs. "If you're not an angel, you can make use of things like computers. And your stop at the police station gave me a bit of a hint at the database I should try hacking into."

House just shakes his head. "You're probably just a figment of my imagination. And beside, I'm pretty sure I'd remember you if we'd met before."

"I don't always look like this." When House doesn't say anything right away, the Doctor continues, "I was at the hospital, when they brought your friend in. It was only a brief stop for me; I was checking out rumors of an out-of-place alien entity on the staff there, but it turned out to be a dead end. I was just about to leave, actually, when I saw the doctors seeking the services of a janitor to save a young boy. I was curious. I wasn't the only one. You were watching through the glass. Confused, fascinated probably. I - "

"Explained to me what was going on." House turns and looks at him, eyes wide. "There… there was this British man there, funny looking guy with this ridiculous scarf even though it was the middle of summer - "

"I miss that scarf," the Doctor says wistfully.

"He told me that the janitor must be an Untouchable. That he was a doctor, but they only used him when they absolutely needed him…"

"He saved your friend's life."

"You told me that when you're right, nothing else matters. People have to listen to you."

"Something you apparently took to heart more than I could ever have imagined," the Doctor adds with a lifted eyebrow.

When House picks up his glass and knocks back the rest, his hand is shaking a little. "This is impossible."

"I imagine it's throwing your Occam's Razor to hell. If you tried hard enough, you probably _could_ justify everything away as a prank by your friend Wilson."

"You have two heartbeats."

"Yeah. Weirdest thing, that."

House is quiet for a long moment. "And it's a coincidence that you're here now. When things have completely gone to shit."

"The universe works in mysterious ways," the Doctor says with a shrug. "Not like I make it to New Jersey very often."

"And you're not here to tell me that I'm throwing my life away."

"I don't know the details well enough for that, though you seem defensive enough about it that I'd be inclined to think it's true. And I know you acquired a full bottle of Oxy this morning through illegal methods, and the fact that you're in pain and aren't reaching for it leads me to believe that it's gone."

House glares.

"I don't have a problem with your being a junkie, Greg, but don't be an idiot. It would be a waste of the clever boy I met thirty years ago. Want me to score you some heroin?"

"Very funny. What kind of goddamned angel are you?"

"If I were an angel I've no doubt I'd be the goddamned kind. And I'm afraid that I've really got to be in Cardiff by morning. Now that we've spoken, my curiosity is sated."

House watches through an alcoholic haze as the Doctor hops off of the stool, smoothing his pinstriped suit.

"How about yours?" he asks.

House blinks. "What?"

"Your curiosity. Is it sated?"

House wants to yell something along the lines of, _of course not, you fucking freak, I've never been this weirded out in my life!_ But instead he just shakes his head as he reaches for his wallet.

The Doctor grins. "Happy Christmas," he says, and tips an imaginary hat.

Later, House doesn't actually remember having seen him leave, though to be fair he hardly remembers paying the bartender or getting a cab home, either.

And that next day, his leg hurts like a bitch. But he's too busy researching any possible medical conditions that cause dual heartbeats to be seeking out more illegal narcotics.

He calls his mother to ask her some questions about that day in the hospital in Japan, and it's the first time they've spoken in months. He'd had no idea how much he needed to hear someone tell him they loved him.

He waits until the end of the day, but he finally calls Wilson, because he _has_ to know that it wasn't some sort of trick he'd orchestrated. Wilson is too completely confused by just the question to be lying. But they talk.

Wilson brings House some prescription meds for his nausea, and House is pouring over cardiology textbooks when he gets there. Nothing's fixed, but it's the beginning of something.

And in Cardiff, there's a man far too busy saving the world from something entirely different to fret too much over a doctor in New Jersey. But he had known one thing about a fourteen year old boy that he'd assumed would translate to the man:

For Greg House, if there's one thing that can overshadow pain, it's a puzzle.


End file.
